


Dawn of a New Beginning

by haroldlevinson



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family, Friendship, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 09:44:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14850413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haroldlevinson/pseuds/haroldlevinson
Summary: The loss of a beloved memory of the Crawley family serves as the catalyst for Baxter & Molesley finally admitting their feelings to one another. But life is often full of surprises, and their union might not begin quite like they planned.





	1. Chapter 1

Baxter bowed her head solemnly, her black leather clad hands folded together as the choir sang sorrowful hymns. She felt Thomas shift in his seat beside her, clearing his throat once more. Her eyes flickered up and over to him, and she set a hand on his knee, patting it reassuringly.

He nodded and covered her gloved hand in mute acknowledgment for a few moments.

Grief was a curious thing. Its infinite reach had the power to ensnare those who lived on the outskirts of the deceased's life. It made the most unlikely of people feel its weight. And yet, it left room for others to feel its presence due to a lack of depth to their own sadness.  
The occasional sniffles and whimpers echoed from the front pew, forcing Baxter's gaze to the front of the church.

Her eyes traveled down the line of Crawley's. Each of them neatly paired off, their hands clasped with their loved ones as the older children sat dutifully quiet, pressed into their mother's sides. The youngsters who might start a fuss were tucked safely away in the nursery with their nanny. They were too innocent to carry the heavy burden of grief that was thrust upon the others.

But out of the entire sea of black, Baxter's eyes landed on the Lord & Lady of the house. His Lordship passively stared at the altar before them, anchored in place by his sister and his wife. Lady Rosamund appeared to be fighting back the worst of her tears, her shoulders tremoring as her head hung forward. A handkerchief pressed into her face, stifling the crushing sounds that prompted Baxter to purse her lips.

Noticing her rising levels of grief, his Lordship placed an arm around both of her shoulders and drew her into his side affectionately.

Her mistress, the Lady of the House, turned her head in their direction just enough for Baxter to see the lower half of her face beneath the brim of her wide brimmed cloche. She bit her lower lip, a telltale sign of holding in her emotions, and linked her arm beneath her husband's other one.

There was no denying the feeling of loss that overcame so many. And when it was time for all to stand and depart to the family cemetery, where Old Lady Grantham would make her final resting place, they clung to each other more desperately.

Baxter shuffled along in the procession alongside Thomas, their arms linked amicably as they made their way outside where all were met with dreary skies.

_How fitting_ , Baxter thought as she glanced upward.

Patches of white poked out of the low hanging grey, and the occasional bright patch of sunshine would fall upon them. But for the most part, the overall mood met with the day's proceedings.  
Fortunately for all, they remained dry as they walked down the winding dirt path that lead to the big house.

She chanced a glance over her shoulder, and commented lightly to Thomas, "Quite a lengthy procession we have." As their incline towards the lane increased, her feet felt tighter against the confines of her shoes.

"I am surprised," Thomas looked behind them as well, "seems like they invited half of the village to come along."

"Perhaps it a sign of the times," Baxter remarked.

"Or the end of an era," Thomas pointed out.

She shook her head and lightly teased, "Must you always be contrary to everything, everyone says."

"Not contrary, Miss. Baxter. Just offering a different perspective," He grinned that cheeky grin of his that prompted her to smile and roll her eyes.

Fortunately for all of them, his cheekiness appeared more so to make light of situations than to create havoc these days. His position of butler-in-training had no doubt given him a new purpose to help those around him, and not lash out against them.

They had made it about halfway up the path when she heard a wheezing sound coming up fast on her right side. Turning her head, she noticed a flustered looking Mr. Molesley approaching them.

"Mr. Molesley?!" She called out, smiling brightly whenever she realized he meant to walk on the other side of her.

"Good day, Miss. Baxter," He wheezed, tipping his hat in her direction before looking to the other side of her. "Mr. Barrow," He inclined his head.

"Mr. Molesley," Thomas returned smoothly, trying not to seem concerned with his sudden appearance. "Can we help ye?"

"Oh I was…invited…ye see…to take part in the…events…at the house," He explained, looking between him and Miss. Baxter. He then focused on the latter, "I would have thought her Ladyship might have...mentioned it...to ye."

Baxter shook her head and shrugged sheepishly, "She would likely mention it to Mrs. Hughes before she would to me."

"Ahh..I suppose that's right."

"Have ye come alone?" She wondered, and then at his perplexed expression she added, "Only just…I would have thought yer father would also be here with ye. Seeing as he knew Lady Grantham a great deal."

"Oh yes…" He agreed and then trailed off, his gaze wandering downward, "…it's only just. Dad's not very well." He flashed a reassuring smile before going on, "We thought it best he stay back at the cottage and rest."

"Oh I am sorry to hear your father is unwell," She replied softly.

Molesley nodded appreciatively.

She always liked Old Mr. Molesley. He was kind, and always extended an open invitation for Baxter to join him and his son for Sunday supper. Thomas had even joined her on one occasion when the Crawley's had granted the entire staff a day of reprieve over the Christmas Holiday.  
It had been a few months though, since Baxter could take the time away from Downton to make the visit. With this news, her heart felt a bit heavier. Molesley's father had been something of a father figure to her as well. Something she had always lacked for most of her life.

And even now as a grown adult. It felt nice to have a sense of kinship with someone who was willing to tease her for her shortcomings, give advice, and offer colorful stories from years past. She could pass hours at a time with him and his son. It was in their cottage she felt most at ease.  
She found herself chewing on her bottom lip when Mr. Molesley blurted the statement.

"You know what might brighten his spirits?"

"What?"

"If you came around for dinner this Sunday."

Her heart constricted further. She would love nothing more to. Pursing her lips, she offered an apologetic look, "I would love to it's just…well…I don't know that her Ladyship could spare me."

"Oh, come now, Miss. Baxter," Thomas nudged her in the side.

She had nearly forgotten he was by her side.

"With the house in mourning, her Ladyship will hardly need fussed over. And given the current circumstances, I'm sure you might find her to be more charitable."

Baxter looked to Mr. Molesley who was beaming with excitement at the idea. "It doesn't hurt to ask," He shrugged.

Upon seeing his face, she found herself smiling shyly and nodding, "Alright then."

* * *

 

Her request had gone over easier than she expected it to. Even Mrs. Patmore was feeling charitable, and gave her a basket full of leftover scones, and a pot of cooked vegetables that would be expire within a day or so.

Baxter supposed this might further brighten the older Mr. Molesley's countenance and give younger Mr. Molesley one less meal to account for on his own.

She barely lifted her hand to knock on the front door of their cottage when the older Mr. Molesley opened it for her.

 

"Oh Phyllis!" He exclaimed, his eyes taking in the pot and the basket she held in her arms. Cocking an interested brow, he marveled, "You've brought some things, have ye?"

"Just a few scones and vegetables that the house could spare," She beamed at Molesley senior, shuffling over the threshold of their tiny cottage.

"Oh, that's mighty nice," Mr. Molesley returned, leaning his weight against the door and opening it wider for her to step through. Calling through the square sitting room to the back kitchen, he remarked once more, "Isn't it nice, Joe?"

"Very nice," Joe Molesley agreed, hurrying from the other room, to assist. Upon noticing his father stumbling a bit from the door to the nearest flat surface he could lean his weight on, Joe cried out in exasperation, "Dad!"

He brushed past Miss. Baxter and hurried to his father's side. Gripping him under one arm, he helped move him from the tall chest that ran across one wall, and back to an armchair in the corner of the room.

"Now ye know ye aren't supposed to go far without your cane," He chided him lowly.

Older Mr. Molesley grumbled something incoherently, but Baxter took it to mean something along the lines of: that unreliable, old thing can shove it.

"Now, why don't ye sit here, and enjoy your book while I…"

"For goodness sake Joe, I can do it myself," He mumbled, reaching for his book on the end table. A low felt cough slightly stirred from within him, but he blew it out swiftly as if to snuff it out before it could gain momentum.

"Alright, alright," Mr. Molesley backed away, hands up in surrender.

The elder Molesley coughed and nodded in response, waving him away.

Baxter turned and slowly made her way to the kitchen, Molesley at her heels, although throwing cautionary glances while his father's cough turned into a phlegmy choking sound before turning dry again.

Baxter scanned the kitchen for a suitable place for her basket and the pot. Molesley reached for the cast iron pot beneath her arm, "I'll take this then?"

"Some green and carrot dish that was for the mourners," Baxter explained while he opened the lid to check the contents. "Suppose not everyone was as hungry as they anticipated."

"I could make a soup of this," Molesley declared.

They heard the faint grumbling of: _"Another soup, hmph!"_ from the next room.

Baxter stifled an amused chuckle.

  
"You can set the scones there," Molesley nodded to the square table situated in the corner.

"Brilliant," Baxter scooted around the table with the three chairs that sat square in the room. When she turned back around and saw Molesley bent over the stove stirring a tureen, she wondered, "So…soup's been on the menu quite a bit?"

"Ah yeah," He nodded in agreement. Lowering his voice, he whispered, "Dad's been unable to keep most solids down."

"Oh…how terrible for him," She shook her head, folding her arms in front of her chest. "He seems better though."

"Ehh..." Molesley bobbed his head and shrugged, "…he has good days and bad."

"What did the doctor say?"

"Dr. Clarkson can't say for sure," He sighed, stirring the contents of the pot. "And Dad doesn't help the matter."

"I heard that!" Yelled Mr. Molesley from the next room. However, the effort set him back a bit as he fell into another fit of a wheezing cough.

"Take it easy now, Dad!" Molesley called back before shaking his head in agitation over the stove.

Baxter couldn't help but chuckle, "Can't say it's his hearing that's gone."

"No," Molesley scoffed at this.

"Shall I sit with him? That is, unless there is something I can do to help?" She looked around, but it appeared that Molesley only had a single pot heating on the stove, and the bowls and cutlery were all set out on the table.

"All covered in here, Miss. Baxter," He assured. Then with a teasing smile and wink he remarked, "Good luck."

"I think we'll do just fine," She beamed in response before removing herself to the next room.

Mr. Molesley sat in his armchair, handkerchief resting on top of one another arms. To his right was a taller cabinet made of dark wood. It reached the bottom of the front window, a crocheted doily stretched across the top with smaller knickknacks and picture frames littering it.  
There was a settee on the opposite side of the armchair, a pink and green crocheted blanket adorning the top back of it. On the wall across from that was the fireplace, and just to the left of it, part of the wall jutted inward like a bookshelf might. Rows of books filled the space, and she smiled upon seeing them stacked in various directions. It was organized chaos of sorts, fitting for someone of Mr. Molesley's countenance. Situated in the same corner of the room was a gramophone that appeared to have seen better days.

"Mind if I sit with you a while, Mr. Molesley?" She probed politely, sinking down on the end of the settee closest to him.

"Not at all, Miss. Baxter. Not at all." He closed his book on his lap and asked directly. "So, tell me, how is it we haven't seen you the last few months?"

"Work keeps me busy, sir," She informed him lightly.

"You must enjoy it immensely to dedicate your life to it."

"It's a fine post. And I am very lucky. Not many girls have the pleasure to work for a family like the Crawley's."

"Especially these days, I daresay," Molesley commented.

"Especially so, sir."

"It was a shame about Old Lady Grantham. She was a remarkable woman."

"Yes," Baxter nodded, allowing a significant enough pause for them to think of her fondly. Then she grinned at him as a particular thought struck her, "I understand the pair of you often were in competition with one another? Mr. Molesley mentioned something about the best village bloom?"

"Ahh…the Grantham Cup. Yes, yes. Those were the days." He sighed wistfully, his grey eyes looking faraway as though fixating on past events. Then he confided wryly, "Although, I think towards the end she felt a bit sorry for me and gave it to me then."

"No Dad," Molesley interjected, prompting both of them to turn towards the kitchen doorway. "I think she recognized that she hadn't been fair to you for many years." He turned to Baxter and added, "Do you really think she tended her own roses?"

She shook her head, "I can't imagine it."

"Well…it was kind of her all the same to recognize me as her equal," Old Mr. Molesley decided with a satisfied smile.

Another moment transpired between them before Molesley announced, "I hate to interrupt, but dinner is ready."

"Oh good," Mr. Molesley shifted forward in his armchair, preparing to push himself up on his own two feet.

Baxter leapt from her seat just as Molesley scurried forward to reach for his father. Miss. Baxter caught him beneath the arm first, startled when his crooked fingers clutched onto her other hand for additional support almost immediately.

Her eyes met Molesley's who was watching her with a mixture of admiration and surprise at her ability to hold him upright.

"Alright Mr. Molesley," She remarked encouragingly, "now where is that cane that son of yours insists you need?"

He chuckled at her words which turned into another sharp rattling in his chest, and he pointed towards it leaning against the fireplace.

Molesley moved to take it from its resting place, handing it over to his father.

"Alright then Dad?" He helped him in making the transition, watching as Miss. Baxter slowly loosened her grip on him.

"Alright. Alright," Mr. Molesley grunted as he determinedly strode from the sitting room to the kitchen. "Let's get this supper started, shall we?"

Molesley looked over his father's retreating form and offered an arm to Miss. Baxter, "Well if he doesn't want escorted into the dining room…"

She snorted at this before providing a wry retort of her own. "I'd be honored, Mr. Molesley," She inclined her head while looping her arm through his. She teased, "If I'm to be escorted into the dining room at Molesley Manor each time, perhaps I'll never wish to dine anywhere else."  
Molesley's smile deepened at this, a pinkish color creeping up his neck and the tips of his ears. He glanced away from her twinkling gaze and muttered in a voice so low she had to strain her ears to hear him.

"Perhaps that can be arranged."

* * *

 

Baxter felt a sense of comfort fill her as their modest dinner progressed. While she often felt a comradery when she sat down with the staff at Downton, this was different. There were no airs or pretenses to put on. No need to mask one's true opinions to not cause disturbances in rank.

Not that their talk that evening was controversial. But Baxter knew she could openly discuss matters of the house here as they pertained to her, without any fear of word ever reaching those upstairs.

The only topic of conversation that appeared to be off the table that night was unwavering health of Old Mr. Molesley. He managed to finish off his meal, but shortly after felt his stomach turn, prompting an early retirement for him.

Molesley took great care to help his father into the adjoining room, which was once his own room, but now that the stairs to the second floor posed a challenge, his father traded with him.  
He gave Baxter something of a reassuring smile. "Gave him some medicine that Mr. Clarkson prescribed," He explained quickly, picking up their bowls and moving back to the sink.

"Does it help?" She asked reflexively.

He bobbed his head and shrugged noncommittally. The plates and cutlery clinked together in the sink, and whatever he might be murmuring to himself was drowned out by the light trickling of water running.

Leaving that piece of the conversation alone, Baxter stood to help gather the rest of the glasses and dishes atop the table. She carefully placed them into the sink, offering another course of discussion for them that evening.

"Dinner was lovely."

Molesley smiled before looking over at her, his eyes awash with relief. "Oh, I'm glad. It's probably not quite like anything you'd have at the house but…"

"It was lovely, Mr. Molesley," She interjected softly. "And it's nice to get out of Downton every now and again."

"Ye probably can't afford to do it again so soon," He surmised with a hint of disappointment in his voice.

She turned away, feeling the same sinking sensation inside of her. "No, probably not, I'm afraid," She remarked a bit downcast.

The sound of water running ceased, and he dried his hands with a nearby towel.

"We could sit or…if you're needed back…?"

Baxter waited for him to finish, but when his words trailed off with a shrug, she informed him. "Anna is taking care of her Ladyship this evening. As long as I'm back for Mr. Barrow to lock the door at ten."

"Right then," Molesley gestured towards the table once more. "Coffee with your scones, Miss. Baxter?"

"Oh the scones!" She exclaimed, suddenly remembering the baked goods that she brought along. "Yes, coffee would go nicely."

As Molesley set to boil water for coffee, Baxter brought the basket of scones to the table for them to enjoy. "I'm sorry your Dad can't enjoy them with us."

"Ahh that's alright," He sank down in the chair at the head of the table, the seat directly beside hers. "He never really had much of a sweet tooth."

Unable to wait for the water to boil, Baxter bit into one, tasting the lemony icing that coated them. Molesley joined in as well.

"Mmm…" Molesley bobbed his head in approval. "Mrs. Patmore's outdone herself again."

"Actually," She swallowed before wiping her mouth with her dinner napkin, "Daisy tried her hand at these."

His smile grew, "A girl of many talents that Daisy. She'll be going places."

"Thanks to your encouragement," Baxter complimented.

"Ahh…" Molesley shrugged, setting down his scone on his napkin. "She had to work it all out herself."

"But you gave her the confidence, Mr. Molesley."

"Perhaps," He shrugged again, looking around the room before his eyes settled back on the kettle.

Baxter racked her brain for other possible topics of conversation that they hadn't already exhausted. They'd done the pleasantries so far. Asking about one another's professions, discussing the late Lady Grantham's legacy and how she would be missed by certain people, and then of course, the weather, and the happenings around town. Their list of superficial topics was waning, and with this realization Baxter felt a bit nervous.

Finally, just as the kettle began its shrill rattling, it dawned upon her.

"The school term must be ending soon," She commented lightly while Molesley killed the heat on the stove and poured their steaming coffee into two mugs.

"Ah yes," He responded eagerly, setting them both down on the table. "Oh!" He pointed at her as he remembered, "Milk, right?"

She smiled shyly at how he remembered, "If you can spare it."

"Oh, for you, certainly."

Baxter felt her stomach flutter at his words. Biting down on her bottom lip to suppress the growing smile, she graciously accepted the milk jug from him before pouring a few droplets in.

"Just set it on the table's fine," Molesley waved a hand in her direction when she looked ready to put it back in its place on the shelf.

They both took a quick sip of their hot coffee and then looked at one another expectantly. They were seated closer now, instead of directly across one another like they had been at supper. And Baxter was starting to notice the finer details of how they were position. How their feet nearly touched as they sought to find comfortable positions in the chairs. How their hands nearly brushed each time they picked up their scones or coffee mugs.

Her heartbeat quickened as she felt the heat of his body radiating.

_How strange,_ she decided, how something as simple as the back of two hands brushing could set off a flurry of responses inside someone.

And it wasn't like she hadn't been this close to Mr. Molesley before now. They'd held hands, they'd even held one another close while dancing, for goodness sake! It had to be the coffee, there was no other explanation for it.

Her inner musings were interrupted when Molesley asked, "I forgot to ask earlier. How is Thomas doing with his training?"

"Oh fine," Baxter responded before chuckling, "folks are actually beginning to like him."

Molesley chuckled at this, "We ought to alert the authorities."

Baxter smiled deeper, showing her teeth. "Well I am glad it's turned out alright for him." Then after a moment's pause, her expression faltered. Showing a tensely stretched smile now, she admitted, "It's a bit scary how jobs in service aren't as available anymore."

"Well you and Lady Grantham seem to get on well," He reassured easily before tilting his head to one side. "I doubt you have anything to worry about."

She bobbed her head slowly, allowing his words to sink in. Her face brightened once more, "You're probably right. And I do have some set aside for the future."

"That's prudent of you."

"One has to be these days."

"Mhm…" He replied while sipping more coffee.

"Still," She stroked the rim of her coffee mug, contemplating recent events, "with Old Lady Grantham's passing…I often wonder where I'd go or what would become of me if the present Lady Grantham…" She looked up and shrugged at him, letting her words die out.

Letting out a sigh, Molesley offered, "Well…ye...ye could…I'm sure the Bates' have room in their cottage. Or there are others in the village you could board with."

She considered this, "I suppose."

"But Lady Grantham's young and mostly in good health," He raised his mug to his lips once more.

"You're right," Baxter remarked, shaking off the doubtful thoughts swirling in her head. "I'm being silly."

"It's good to have plans though," He encouraged. "For all the surprises life has to offer. It's good to know that some things are for certain."

"What is it they say…death and taxes are the only certainties life has to offer?"

Molesley snorted a bit at her witticism, and Baxter giggled softly.

Once their amusement subsided, Molesley cocked his head to one side and remarked, "That's a bit sad though when you think about it."

"I'm sorry," She frowned a bit. "I didn't mean to…bring down the mood."

"Oh no," He waved a hand before disclosing, "I don't think you really could. Even if you tried."

"That's kind of ye."

"Well it's true. You're presence is a welcome one."

"Oh stop," She rolled her eyes a bit, and felt her cheeks warming.

"It's true!" He exclaimed, "Dad was determined to get out of bed and to have meal, the minute I told him you were coming."

She felt a pang of guilt at hearing this. Biting on her lower lip, she mumbled into her coffee mug, "And now he's overexerted himself for me."

He leaned forward, determined to catch her eye again. When Baxter looked up, she saw the genial warmth written across his face. And his next words came out gently and reassuringly.

"Don't go on blaming yourself. He had a jolly time. He's not well. We don't talk about it because…well…we don't how to. Dr. Clarkson isn't exactly sure what it is either. We just know he has good days, like today. And then…days where he can't get out of bed."  
He cleared his throat and took a sip of coffee after this, and the sadness that slowly sifted through his final words nearly broke her heart.

"And you have to bear it all on your own," She observed sadly.

"Yeah…well that's just…what you do." He cleared his throat again and exhaled, looking down at the table. "That's just what you do for someone you love."

Slowly and tentatively, she reached her hand towards his, offering a reassuring squeeze. Molesley looked over at her and offered a weak smile, his eyes glistening a bit. His hand turned over beneath hers, their palms pressing together as his grip tightened around her hand in mute response.  
His thumb lightly traced the back of her knuckles, and she felt her gaze lowering between them while he continued studying her face.

Her heart hammered fiercely now, and she felt a sort of heat rush through her ears. Then there was something more primal deep within her, a yearning to shift her chair closer to him; to draw him near.

But she forced them away by insisting in a hushed voice, "Ye can write to me, ye know? If ye need…a-a friend."

His thumb stopped, and she felt his gaze move away from her flushed face. She stole an opportunity to glance at his face, and she noticed his lips rolling together. She wondered what he was contemplating at he looked down at their joined hands, and part of her hoped it was the same thoughts that circulated her mind.

"I shall write to ye then," He murmured softly, his gaze moving up to hers.

And she let her hand slip away when she noticed the same hunger in his eyes that she felt in her heart.


	2. Chapter 2

They had spent the last few weeks exchanging letters that skirted around the aftershocks of their brief hand holding over scones. They mostly discussed their individual work, Molesley interjected to give updates on his father's health, and in turn began asking her about her family. A portion of her life that she rarely alluded to, which is why he rarely asked.

But this last time, he was met with her cryptic response of _I don't really have much of a family._ Molesley thought best to leave it at that. She would disclose it if the right moment came, or if she felt comfortable enough with him. Perhaps one day.

That was the way of their relationship. Always looking to the future. Always implying they might talk about this or that if the time came. If the right opportunity presented itself to one of them, they might just be bold enough to take that next step towards where they'd been heading for a while now.

He thought of kissing her hand that night and disclosing it all. But she pulled away from him, her eyes bewildered by something in his expression. It was then he realized that perhaps she didn't feel that same burning desire to draw her close as he did.

Perhaps it was best that she didn't hold his gaze or that her hand slowly drifted away from his hold. He'd been half a second away from ruining the best relationship he'd ever been in.

And now as he read the contents of her latest letter, he felt possessed with a need to go to her. He stood abruptly from the table in the cottage's kitchen. The chair scraped painfully against the wooden floor, and he froze. Holding his breath, the only immediate sounds he detected were his fiercely beating heart, and the clock ticking on the windowsill behind him.

He inched closer to the door separating the kitchen from his father's bedroom. After a few seconds, he heard the familiar catch and release of his father's uneven snores. He exhaled in relief.

It had been challenging for his dad to find sleep tonight. It was only after a half glass of whiskey that he was able to find relief from the pain that plague his gut. Joe said a silent prayer at the realization that his father was still fast asleep.

Then he resolved to move to the front sitting room. Armed with his gas lamp and the slip of paper, he paced quietly to the next room.

He sunk down on the armchair angled in one corner, placing the lamp on the chest of drawers beneath the window. Leaning toward the light, he reread the lines that gave him a great deal of trouble.

_I've received exciting news. I am to accompany her Ladyship to America for these summer months. It appears Old Lady Grantham's passing has stirred some feelings of nostalgia in her. She wishes to visit her mother and brother while she is still able and while they are still well._

_I've never been nor had the chance to go. I doubt I ever will again, so I feel it my duty to seize this opportunity with enthusiasm._

_We are to depart this Friday for Liverpool._

He paused again, checking the postmark date. In four days! She was headed for America. For the entire summer. In four days' time. He would hardly see or hear from her.

She was going away on an exciting holiday, _and_ she was enthused by it. There wasn't a shred of disappointment or melancholy disclosed by her, which in turn depressed his mood. The buoyant state in which the letter's presence found him was now lost as he felt his heart sink slowly.

Letting out a sigh, he waved the paper back and forth as though it were a fan. He thought of his dad, how the whiskey had lulled him into a deep slumber. He thought of her upcoming schedule, and how busy it would undoubtedly be until Friday. He knew she wouldn't be able to steal away.

He supposed there might not be another chance, another opportunity to see her before she departed.

Hoping his unannounced arrival would be a welcome one, Molesley grabbed his jacket, checked for the keys to the cottage and set on his way towards The Big House.

* * *

Miss. Baxter was polishing a pile of boots that her Ladyship requested to take for their journey. She would take a month's worth of clothes, and purchase additional items as needed. There wasn't much changing required in America, she explained. Only when one was going out or hosting a social event was dinner considered a formal affair.

She mentioned they would be doing a great deal of going out as her mother still enjoyed the social season. Especially now that both of her children were connected through marriage to the British aristocracy. Nearly all of Lady Grantham's formal wear would be required then.

Even after all these years of being employed by the Crawley's, it still shocked Baxter how many articles of clothing Lady Grantham owned. The magnitude seemed to hit her most when she was asked to prepare for long trips such as this one. And while she had mended the everyday items that needed it, she knew her list of things to do would force her to work late into the night.

Which is why when Mrs. Hughes poked her head into the boot room and mentioned she had a visitor, Baxter felt a slight ping of annoyance. But the annoyance was soon replaced with a wave of fear.

_Who could possibly want to see her? And at such a late hour?_

"Someone we know, Mrs. Hughes?" She asked hesitantly.

Mrs. Hughes authoritative expression melted into that of delight, "Our Mr. Molesley. Ye can invite him in for a spot of tea if ye like."

Her heart skipped a beat, and then sunk. Surely his presence could only be explained by an urgent need. Perhaps it was his father.

Bowing her head in thanks to Mrs. Hughes, she abandoned her work to maneuver down the corridor that led to the servant's yard.

She pushed open the door and he stood nearby, half cloaked in the early darkness night. The lanterns hanging outside casting a dim glow on parts of his face.

"Mr. Molesley," She breathed out, rushing to him. "Is everything alright?" Her eyes searching his face for signs of shock or grief, her heart bracing itself behind her ribcage for the ominous news she'd been dreading him to bring her.

He looked a bit disheveled, his breath coming in and out unevenly. His eyes were wide and darting from her face to their surroundings.

"Is it your father?" She tried to force his answer. Her hand reached for the sleeve of his jacket and it felt warm.

"Oh no," He assured, suddenly focusing on her. "No Dad's…well…he's alright. It was a hard day," He admitted with a slight tilt of his head. "But he's resting now."

"Oh," She blinked back, removing her hand. "Oh well…I would have thought your sudden visit…might suggest some urgent need?"

"Yes," He lifted his brow, explaining rather hurriedly, "I received your letter."

"Oh," She exhaled a bit, feeling a bit unhinged by this.

"I just..." Molesley started eagerly before stopping to fully think through his next words, "...well I didn't know when I'd have a chance to see ye."

She hardly expected him to arrive so swiftly due to her news. Part of her was elated by his admission, another part of her still unsure. With his presence under their circumstances, there was a chance for them to start sailing in uncharted waters.

Still, she was glad for him to come in friendship, not under some other hostile emotion.

"You're not angry then?" She offered a sheepish half smile, feeling the tightness inside her stomach begin to slowly unwind.

"Of course not," Molesley sighed heavily, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. Shrugging he admitted with a bit of uncertainty, "It-it did made me a bit sad, though."

Baxter swallowed the lump growing in her throat and she looked down between them. "Me too," She whispered softly.

"I hope it's not presumptuous," He took a step closer to her, his hand finding hers clamped together. He squeezed her top hand, "For me to say that I'll miss you. Which is why I just had to see you now."

He angled his face forward, and she tentatively lifted her eyes to meet his. Shaking her head slowly, she returned, her grey eyes full of deep sincerity. Setting off the fluttering in her chest, and heating her cheeks, she returned, "No. It is not."

"Will you...miss _me_?" He smiled hopefully, a flicker of uneasiness crossing his face.

She nodded, and in finding his eyes she felt the pinprick of tears forming at the back of her eyes. Looking off to one side, she blinked several times, not wanting her mounting feelings to come rushing out now.

"Will you…come back?"

She bobbed her head, whispering, "Of course."

"Might I…?" He started and then stopped again.

Baxter softly urged him to continue, "Yes?"

"…write to you?" He finished in a hurried breath, leaning closer to her.

"Oh, please do," She gushed, her hand folding against his and squeezing tightly. She added boldly, "And tell me everything."

There was a streak of surprise shooting across his face. Or perhaps it was just the flickering of the nearby flame in the lantern. But then, she saw a troubled frown cross his mouth.

"Forgive me, if I appear to earnest," She lowered her gaze, her hand releasing from his for a second time with reluctance.

_Had she misread his intentions? Perhaps he was merely just seeing her off as a friend. Perhaps his look of desire when their hands intertwined had been something else._

But his light chortling, brought her some ease. "Earnest? You? If anyone could be accused of that, it is surely me. Showing up here unannounced, not entirely sure you would want to see me or hear the things I had to say."

She laughed alongside him for a moment. And then, she breathed out softly with a shy smile, "But I am glad you came. I should like to recall a friendly face from time to time."

"Any friendly face? Or…" Molesley paused, and then practically winced as he spoke the words, "…mine?"

She inhaled sharply at this hardly expecting such sentiments to be spoken. Swallowing back her uncertainty, she stared up at him for several moments, suddenly feeling like she could scarcely breathe.

His face appeared a deeper shade of red, much like hers undoubtedly did. And his eyes were eager for her answer; for a particular answer. She could see it in his cautious yet longing expression.

Her breath came in and out in shallow intervals, her mouth parting slowly as she glanced in the direction of his lips. His mouth was closed tightly as if he was holding his breath. And then she watched him lick his lips, and she nearly lost her nerve. Bowing her head, she muttered, "Yours."

Baxter's clasped hands wrung anxiously, and she didn't quite know where to look.

The quiet that enveloped them next was a deafening one. Baxter could scarcely hear him over the pounding of her own heart and the coarseness of her own breath. There had been moments in years past when she felt her breath stolen from her, but nothing ever as quite like this.

At this moment they stood of the precipice of something more than unwavering friendship. Something deeper, and greater that was beyond their control. Something that could forever change them, for better or worse.

Molesley cleared his throat, his voice still crackling a bit as he breathed out, "Miss. Baxter…" His feet crunched beneath the gravel as he stepped closer to her.

As they stood toe to toe, their bodies nearly pressing together, she angled her face back to look him in the eye once more. His face hovered a few inches from hers, a glassy quality to his eyes as his lids drooped more steadily.

"Yes, Mr. Molesley?" She gulped, feeling her eyes flutter between his gaze and his lips.

"Forgive me," He took her face in both of his hands gently, "if I'm wrong about this."

It was enough to make her melt already. Her head fell back into his hands as she let him kiss her softly on the lips. He smelled fresh and sweet, almost like fresh grass following rainfall, mingled with faint hints of tobacco and a mustiness that belonged solely to the village.

His mouth was soft and slender against her own. And before she could give into any rational thought, Baxter was kissing him back, her lips parting tentatively against his. Their tongues not daring to interfere with the sweet sensation they experienced as their lips came together and apart in languid gestures.

Her hands came to his waist, and she felt one of his slide down the curve of her neck.

Finally, after several seconds, they broke contact. And as she glanced up at the softness in his expression, she felt something course through her whole body.

"You're shaking," Mr. Molesley's hand trailed down further to rest atop her shoulder as if to stifle the tremors that coursed through her body.

"Am I?" She whimpered, looking down between them, feeling a bit unnerved that he felt it too.

_Was she really that affected by a few kisses? Heaven's what if things …_

She couldn't finish the thought as he brought his arm across her shoulders and drew her body close to his. He placed a soft kiss at the crown of her head, and she inhaled the scent of him with her face pressed into his throat.

There was no telling just how much time had passed before the door to the servant's quarters opened nearby. Utterly stunned, they jumped away from one another. Their eyes fixated on different points entirely as Mrs. Hughes informed Miss. Baxter that her Ladyship was ringing to be put to bed.

She waited expectantly by the door for Baxter to retreat inside, and just before reluctantly disappearing back inside the house she cast a quick, apologetic glance in Mr. Molesley's direction.

* * *

Molesley felt his stomach drop at the sudden appearance of Mrs. Hughes. He released Mr. Baxter from his tender embrace as though a jolt of electricity had sparked up between them. Unlike Miss. Baxter whose gaze fell to the ground, Molesley cast a sideways glance at Mrs. Hughes.

She appeared just as shocked as the pair of them, however, she managed to swallow it back and assert in her usual authoritative tone, "Miss. Baxter, her Ladyship is ready for bed now."

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes," She mumbled, turning her face a fraction of an inch in his direction.

His mouth curved at the edges into a smile, and he swore that he saw her yearning to return the look. But instead, she turned her head and scurried past Mrs. Hughes into the house.

"Mrs. Hughes," Molesley stepped forward contritely, "I meant no harm."

She studied him warily for a few seconds before deciding, "I doubt you did, Mr. Molesley. But…you must remember that Miss. Baxter is a member of this household in a superior position. There are standards and rules that must be upheld. Even in today's day and age."

Even this mild lecture didn't stop him from blurting out solemnly, "I care for her a great deal. And I would never do anything that might compromise her position. So please, if you're to place blame…"

"I am no judge on this matter, Mr. Molesley," She raised her hands in surrender, eyes widening, "I only want to ensure the safety and security of my female staff. That is all."

"She's going away..." He lamented, pacing back and forth a bit. His arms swung back and forth before he stopped in front of Mrs. Hughes. "I had to…I couldn't let her go not knowing..."

The housekeeper fought back a slight smile at this. Even in her attempt to follow the rules, she knew too well if she was too harsh with him it might be viewed as hypocritical.

Tearing his focus away from her, Molesley moved back across the yard. _Did he really just nearly admit to everything to someone other than Miss. Baxter?_ The tips of his ears were no doubt as red as the warmth he felt in his face. Defeated by Miss. Baxter's sudden departure, Molesley was ready to take his leave when he heard a conflicted sigh from behind him.

"We still lock the door at eleven-thirty."

He whirled around and Mrs. Hughes stared back with knowing half grin, "Be sure you're gone by then, and she's safely back inside beforehand. And be sure you do right by her, Mr. Molesley. Miss. Baxter is a sweet soul. I'd hate to see that gone."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes," He crossed the few feet between them, and took her hands in his squeezing them amicably. "And I will...I've never wanted to do right by anyone else more so in my life."

Jerking her head in the direction of the corridor behind her, she insisted, "Ye can use my sitting room. I'm nearly on my way home for the evening with Mr. Carson."

* * *

Not even a half hour later, Baxter scurried back downstairs. Her body hummed from her earlier encounter with Mr. Molesley, nerves bouncing around in her stomach at their abrupt meeting and departure. There was a fluttering in her chest when she let her mind wander to the sensation of his mouth pressed against hers.

Her lips curled at the memory, hand reaching up to lightly touch them.

_Had it really happened? Had he really kissed her?_ She often wondered if it was to ever happen. And now that it had...

"Her Ladyship tucked snugly in bed?"

Baxter felt her heart stop and her stomach drop as Mr. Barrow's voice caught her off guard at the bottom of the steps. Her hand moved to clutch the stitch at her chest, and she exhaled the breath that hitched in the back of her throat.

"Yes," She replied breathlessly before feeling his mouth twitch wryly, "which is something I'll never know if I don't finish preparing her many shoes this evening."

Continuing on her way to the boot room, Mr. Barrow followed her with his sly words, "Well I'm afraid you might not know it anyway, Miss. Baxter."

Halfway down the corridor, she paused and turned to face him. Pinching her brow she wondered, "Why do you say that?"

"Because Mr. Molesley is waiting for you in Mrs. Hughes sitting room," He informed her smoothly, his dark eyes glittering something smartly. "She said the pair of you might have some things to talk about."

"Oh..." She glanced away uncertainly.

She assumed he had gone, and she could away holding onto a fleeting moment of passion as she crossed to uncertain shores. She hadn't anticipated him staying, them having to discuss their actions. It both thrilled her and frightened her all at once. Thrilled her at the prospect that her life might still yet have a surprise or two in store; frightened her because with this new development stirred great insecurities within her.

"Shall I send him away?" Thomas probed curiously.

"No," She shook her head, brandished a quick smile before deciding, "no that's alright. I will meet with him."

He bowed his head and remarked, "Alright then. Just remember, I lock the door in an hour."

"Yes, Mr. Barrow," She smoothed the front of her black dress, although, there wasn't much to be done about her appearance now.

Baxter now turned to the door a few paces down the corridor on her left, and she slowly pushed open the door. Finding Mr. Molesley seated at the table against the wall, his gaze cast off deep within the room. He shifted in his seat upon hearing her enter, and his expression brightened considerably.

Closing the door behind them, she muttered, unable to hold his gaze for long. "Thomas said you were still here," She remarked neutrally.

"You sound surprised," His voice lifted a bit, and she heard the light, teasing air that occupied him, "Didn't think I'd just run off like that, did ye?"

Sinking down into the chair opposite of him, Baxter smiled shyly. "Not of your own accord, no. I'm only surprised Mrs. Hughes invited you in."

"Perhaps she's becoming more lenient since her and Mr. Carson took up," He shrugged.

Nodding, she dared to find his eye before agreeing, "That's likely."

He beamed back at her, and she felt her cheeks flush from the intensity of it. Her mouth flickered into a similar expression, her eyes darting to and fro, unable to really focus on anything specifically. Her mind whirled incessantly, thoughts of what she ought to say, how she ought to act, made her dizzy.

She never expected it to be so hard with him. Up until this point, things were easy with him. They could be their true selves. They could talk about nearly anything and everything. And they felt at ease doing so. Nerves or moments of awkwardness never paralyzed her before now. And it likely read across her face, prompting her to feel even more at ease.

Thankfully, Mr. Molesley found his words so as to break the heavy silence that resided in the room. "I didn't realize I'd be so nervous about all this. Ye'd think I never kissed a pretty woman before."

"Have ye then?" She marveled, and then, feeling like her shock was a bit rude, she sat back in her seat. "Sorry I didn't mean it like..."

"Oh, it's alright," He shrugged with a self-deprecating, nervous laugh, "I know I'm not much to look at. So you're surprise is to be expected. And I suppose I shouldn't say women. They were girls, and well, I probably looked more promising then than I do..."

"I think you look fine," Baxter blurted out, feeling her heart ache at the notion that he felt the way he did. For when she looked at him, she could scarcely breathe with how lovely he was towards her. "That is," Lowering her eyes, she admitted quietly, "you're very handsome to me."

"Yer just saying that cause ye kissed me," He teased with a snort.

"So?" Her voice rose a bit defensively, "It doesn't make it less true."

His face appeared warmer, and he smiled a bit to himself, "If you say so."

Their conversation trailed off once more to a quietness wrought with doubt. They listened to the intermittent crackling of the fire and the methodical ticking of the clock on the fireplace mantel. It was with the latter of these noises that reminded Miss. Baxter that time wasn't necessarily in their favor.

Clearing her throat, she pointed out rather meekly, "Did ye wish to say something to me Mr. Molesley? I don't mean to rush ye out, but I do have quite a lot of work to get done." She grinned apologetically, biting on her bottom lip.

"Oh right," He laughed a bit nervously, "of course, I'm sorry."

"No it's..." She shook her head.

"Mrs. Hughes invited me in as you know by now," He went on. "And while she was waiting for Mr. Carson to go over the books with Thomas...Mr. Barrow," He corrected himself with a slight shake of his head, "we had a bit of tea."

"What does that have to do with...?"

"She's agreed to pitch in and help with her Ladyship on Thursday," He finished, watching her steadily.

Frowning a bit, she wondered, "Why would she do that?"

"So you might have the time off," His words were laced with hope.

Still not understanding, she questioned, "Why would I need the time off?"

"Because..." His mouth opened and closed, and he looked down at his fingers, anxiously running along the lacy table covering. "I..." His mouth contorted a few times before he let it all out in a singular breath, "...I wanted to ask you to marry me. And if you happened to say yes, I wanted to know we could do it before you left."

Baxter's mouth dropped open at this. Her heart plummeting into her chest. She found herself exhaling, her lips twitching and broadening into a stunned smile. Inhaling once more, she managed to get the question out in spite of her mind whirling about once more.

"Are ye asking then?"

He swallowed, leaned forward in his seat, and reached across the table. She placed her hand in his, relishing in the sensation of his fingers curling around her. They looked back at one another, and his face full of adoration and hope, nearly brought her to tears. _Could it really be?_

"Will you marry me, Miss. Baxter?"

Even though she'd been expecting it, the words still took her breath away. Blinking back her tears, she smiled and then her mouth opened and closed a few more times before she could even manage to properly give him the answer he'd been waiting for. The only answer that she ever thought to give him, should this moment ever present itself to them.

"Yes."


End file.
